


Christmas Eve in a Sussex Grocery Store

by Zigster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 20 something year-olds, Alternate Universe, Alternative First Meeting, Christmas Eve, Cigarette Smoking, Grocery Store, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 15:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigster/pseuds/Zigster
Summary: John Watson is a 20-something year-old grocery store employee who's rather fed up with the annoying holiday shoppers. Enter Sherlock Holmes, young, brazen and has no such qualms about upsetting the customers.





	Christmas Eve in a Sussex Grocery Store

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the H.I.A.T.U.S. December Christmas Challenge 
> 
> Not beta'd but well looked over.  
> Not brit-picked but *somewhat* researched.
> 
> Happy Holidays!

Christmas Eve at a Posh Grocery Store Somewhere in Sussex

 

* * *

 

John tried to keep his left eye from twitching in annoyance and his balance from slipping on his bad leg as yet another customer approached him from behind. He was midway up a ladder attempting to hang a large, hand-painted end cap sign above an extremely last-minute holiday display and did not appreciate being caught off guard. This fact didn't occur to the woman who'd approached him in the slightest as she wasted no time in loudly asking, “Excuse me, do you work here?”

 

_No, I voluntarily stand on ladders in the middle of grocery stores with large display signs in my hands while wearing a shirt with the store name written across both the front and the back, a nametag and a pair of fucking antlers on my head because I like their varied cheese selection. No, lady, I don’t work here._

 

None of this was said out loud, of course, John had manners after all. He steeled himself while putting on what he hoped was his most winning smile while turning around to address the customer.

 

Before he could even attempt to disregard her ridiculous opening question, he was interrupted by someone else speaking to the woman.

 

“Madam, if you were to use your eyes and observe, you’d see that based on his clothing and stance upon a store-issued ladder that yes, he works here.”

 

John turned his head towards the store’s newest employee -- what was his name again? _Seamus? Sherrinford?_ \-- and gaped at him.

 

The woman, who’s own complexion had turned a rather alarming shade of pink, closed her mouth, spun around on her staggeringly high heels, and clicked-clacked off in a huff of faux-fur and perfume.  

 

“Off to offend another employee with her pathetic attempts at conversation I see. Have a good evening!”

 

John, having finished hanging his sign and descending the ladder, continued to gape at -- _Sean, Sinéad - no that’s a girl name isn’t it?_ \-- and asked, “Did you really just say that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“We’re not supposed to say those things, you know . . . outloud.”

 

“Well, someone had to, it’s painfully obvious that you work here and she was being utterly tiresome when it came to stating her true inquiry. She could have just opened with, _pardon me, where are the gherkins?_ But no, they always have to break the ice with a bazaar, slightly submissive question first. It’s tedious.”

 

“How on earth did you ever get a job here?”

 

At first, the man didn’t answer. Instead he continued to watch the woman accost another member of the store’s staff with rapt attention. Coming back to himself a moment later, he shook his head. “Hmm? Oh, my brother. I’m being punished, apparently.”

 

“And who’s your brother?”

 

“No one of consequence, though I’m sure he’d have something different to say on the matter.”

 

“Do you always talk like this?”

 

“Like what?”

 

John smiled. Was this man actually unaware of how eccentric he seemed? His brazen ego yet childlike purity when it came to not caring of how others perceived him was refreshingly genuine to John and he found himself extending a hand out to the man. “I’m John, I haven’t gotten a chance to introduce myself yet.”

 

“Yes, I know.”

 

John’s smile widened. The man had not taken his hand, but it wasn’t awkward for some reason, it was telling.

 

“You’re not going to tell me your name, are you?”

 

“Should I?”

 

“Well, it’d be nice to know. You should be wearing a name tag, by the way.”

 

The man flipped a hand through the air as if that idea was ludicrous. “Identification tags are for cattle.”

 

John’s eyebrow lifted. “Do I look like a cow to you?”

 

With a quirk of his cupid’s bow upper lip, the tall man replied, “No, you very much do not.”

 

“Oi! Sherlock! We’ve just had a complaint about a ‘lanky employee with curly hair and a posh accent’ up at the front. Is that you?”

 

With a put-upon sigh, Sherlock responded, “So it would seem.”

 

“Well, try and keep it a bit more cheery, yeah? It’s Christmas. And where’s your nametag?”

 

“In my bag. I’ll just go and grab it then,” he said, being overly chipper. He turned, not waiting for their manager Greg to dismiss him.

 

“John, why don’t you keep Sherlock company tonight and help him understand how to act like a human towards are lovely customers, eh?”

 

John held back a laugh and gave Greg a nod of agreement. “Not a problem.”

 

John jogged off to the employee break room in the back of the store to find the so-called Sherlock. He wasn’t by the row of lockers where John assumed the man kept his personal items along with the rest of the staff, nor was he in the loo. The back door to the emergency exit (which was supposed to be alarmed if opened) however, was cracked a few inches. Ice-chilled air and wisps of snow blew in from the dark night just beyond, and John knew where his new friend had gone.

 

“Those things will kill you.”

 

Sherlock exhaled smoke out into the winter air before turning to find John walking towards him, arms huddled against his chest for warmth.

 

“Yes, I know.”

 

“Ever try nicotine patches?”

 

Sherlock quirked half a smile in his direction, his cigarette lazily hanging from his full lower lip.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

 

Silence fell between the two of them and John took the time to truly take in the strange creature before him. The man must have been a few years younger than himself, no more than twenty or so, with a too-thin face and too-long legs. He leaned back against the brick wall, one knee pulled up for support, with an attitude better befitting a seventies rockstar then that of a posh upper-class brat who found himself slumming it with the ‘cattle’ as he had said earlier.

 

“You’re a strange one, you are.”

 

Sherlock smiled as if he’d been granted the highest compliment. “Thank you.”

 

John laughed. Sherlock’s grin widened. “You’re not so normal, yourself.”

 

Seeing a challenge when it was laid out before him, John lifted his chin in invitation. “Oh?”

 

“Well, if you insist," Sherlock turned towards him with a wicked grin, "you fancy yourself a bisexual -- very progressive of you, by the way, though you’re entirely wrong, you’re a total poof -- and you spend your free time painting in a small flat within walking distance from here, with a leg injury sustained while . . . ” Sherlock paused, his eyes roaming over John for an extra second before continuing, “while playing polo at Cowdray -- where your father works, which allows you entrance but only at the club's discretion since you clearly don’t run with the high society crowd and neither of you are members. Despite this little fact of sub-par birth, you get along well with all the gits who frequent the place and until your injury were quiet the up-and-coming player -- in more ways than one.” Sherlock took another long drag of his cigarette after that last innuendo-laced statement, hollowing his cheeks and accentuating his high cheekbones.

 

To John, watching this man smoke was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, and John detested smoking.

 

Sherlock knew when he had a captive audience, and made a flourish of dropping his half-smoked cigarette to the curb and stamping on the butt with his shiny-toed Danburry shoe. “No,” he said, pushing off from the wall. “I daresay you aren't  _normal_.”

 

“Total poof?”

 

Sherlock’s grin was almost manic as he stepped into John’s personal space, pressing him back against the wall he'd just vacated. “Yes. Total.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips across the shorter man’s mouth, not asking, but teasing out the tell he’d been waiting for since spotting him on that ladder not ten minutes prior and deciding he knew what he wanted for Christmas and was going to get it early this year.

 

“Tell me to stop.”

 

John fisted his hand in Sherlock’s curls and tugged hard, pulling his head down closer to John’s with a strength that had Sherlock’s eyes widening in delight. “Not in a million years.” He closed the distance between their mouths and opened his own to the tobacco-sweet taste of Sherlock’s tongue.

  
A thought occurred to Sherlock as he kissed, and licked, and moaned into the mouth of the fascinating puzzle of a man named John against the brick wall of a grocery store on Christmas eve -- _perhaps this really is the most wonderful time of the year_.

 

* * *

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Come find me in the tumblrsphere - [Zigster-Ao3](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zigster-ao3)


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